“You seem quite sure he’ll kill you, too. Will you help me, then?”
“That is why I walk with you now."
“We’ve got to get the gun away from him,” Durell said.
“You are a man of directness. First things first, eh?”
“Can you do it?” Durell asked.
“You mean, can I get near enough to him tonight to steal the weapons? No. He will not have me. He will take Jane, instead.”
“But if you tried—”
“He will reject me,” she said flatly.
“Then if you can tell Jane what must be done—”
“I already have. She understands. She has agreed. She will try to get Charley’s weapons and if she succeeds, she will kill him.”
“No,” Durell said quickly. “He’s my prisoner, still. He must be brought back to Paris to talk about this matter.”
Madeleine looked grim. “Jane will not succeed, anyway. She is too soft, too spoiled. Charley will take her and use her and laugh at her afterward. She will try, but she will fail.”
"Is there anything else you can do?” Durell asked.
“Then Jane has to try,” he said.
He didn't like it. He had never subscribed to the use of women in this business, although it was an accepted commonplace in many instances. He told himself he had got rid of any false notions of chivalry. There was no chivalry in this war. It was mean, gut-twisting, back-knifing struggle, with no holds barred, no rules. You did what you could and you used whatever weapons came to hand, or you died.
The wadi entrance ahead was a narrow cleft in the rock, not important enough to attract attention from the road, but wide enough to permit a jeep to drive in. Charley ordered them into the starlit gloom and after a few steps the walls of the ravine widened and then turned abruptly to the right. Durell halted, and Charley pushed him on angrily.
“You first, buddy boy.”
“Do you expect to meet anybody here?”
Charley breathed hard. “You never know with these gooks.”
“I don’t see any jeep.”
“You don't see the cave either, do you? It was an arms cache for the rebels a couple months ago, but they gave it up, don’t ask me why. They're always going off half-cocked, like a bunch of bloody amateurs. So I had the jeep cached here, along with a radio.”
Durell went around the sharp bend in the wadi. A fiat face of limestone loomed ahead and he looked to right and left into the angular shadows of the ravine, but he saw no other way out. The forty-foot cliffs formed a natural cul-de-sac. To the left was a fault in the layers of stone, where one huge slab overlapped another, the ragged edge slanting up at a sharp angle. If you looked at it casually, you wouldn’t see the gap behind the outer fold of rock, the triangular opening that led into the face of the cliff.
“Mad!” L'Heureux called. “Go get the jeep out.”
Madeleine vanished quickly into the dark slot between the stones. Durell looked at the Larkins. Jane had eased Chet to a sitting position against a boulder, and Durell, looking at the wounded man, decided that Chet Larkin was tougher than he looked.
Madeleine came out of the cave almost at once.
“Charley, there’s no jeep in there.”
“What?”
“The cave is empty.”
“Mad, don't joke with me—”
"I'm not, Charley, it isn’t there!” She sounded desperate.
L’Heureux grabbed the carbine from her hands. He now had all the weapons in the group, Durell noted. The Colt .45 was jammed in his belt, the first carbine was slung by its shoulder strap, along with the tommy gun, and the grenade was crammed into the left-hand pocket of his ragged khaki pants.
“The jeep’s got to be there, Mad. Is it a trick? Something you cooked up with Durell? You expect me to go in there first?” L’Heureux suddenly smashed his knuckles across the girls face. Madeleine fell, sprawling, her hair across her eyes. “That’s for trying anything at all, see? Now get in there and drive that jeep out.”
She didn’t get up. She shook her head.
“Mad, I’m warning you!”
Durell said quietly: “It’s possible she’s telling the truth. Maybe the jeep 'isn’t there. You said yourself this place was used by the rebels. Maybe they came back and found the jeep and drove it away.” In the dim starlight, he saw Charley's figure as something enormous and glowering. He could hear the man’s harsh breathing. Durell walked over to Madeleine. He couldn’t help her up; his hands were tied behind his back; but he dropped to his knees beside her. “Tell him again. Tell him the jeep is gone.”
Charley cursed. “All right. Nobody moves. I go in there and if anybody moves a finger, they get it, understand?”
Madeleine whispered, “He means it. Be careful.”
Charley went into the cave. Nobody moved.
When he came out again, Durell saw by his face that Madeleine had told the truth. The jeep Charley had been counting on wasn’t there. Charley, for all his careful planning, was trapped along with them.
Charley stared at them and licked his lips. The starlight glistened in his narrowed eyes. “So it’s gone,” he announced. He looked at Durell. “But don’t get any ideas. There's still a radio in there. I’m calling the rebels, and we’ll sit tight until they pick us up here.”
“What happens to us then?” Durell asked.
“Whatever they want. You’ll make a great hostage for them. Good propaganda, being an American agent.”
“Do they know about the money?”
“No,” Charley said. “And they won’t know, either.”
They looked at each other.
“Suppose one of us mentions it when they get here?” Durell asked. “You can’t watch us all. And the minute you took off alone, we could talk. They’d be on your heels before you got very far.”
“So?"
“So don’t lie to us,” Durell said. “You have to kill us before they get here.”
“Don’t push it,” Charley said. “Don’t push it now.”
Madeleine whispered, “Please, Charley. No more right now. Please.”
“He wants me to knock him off,” L’Heureux said heavily.
“You know he didn’t mean it that way.”
“Then let him ask me to save him for a few hours.” Charley walked across the gritty sand and put the muzzle of his carbine against Durell’s head. Durell could smell the oil on the gun. He still knelt beside Madeleine. The huge shape of his former prisoner loomed over him. Charley said, “Go ahead, beg for it, you son of a bitch.”
“Let it go, Charley,” Madeleine whispered.
“Shut up and stay out of it. Well, Durell?”
“No man wants to die,” Durell said carefully.
“That ain’t enough.”
Durell saw Jane and Chet staring at him. They seemed to be holding their breath. Then L’Heureux laughed explosively.
“Funny thing, Durell. I got a gun at your head and I can kill you now and get away with it. No reason why I shouldn’t. But you can’t kill me. You wouldn’t, even it you had the chance.”
“Don’t count on that, Charley.”
“I don’t. But in your mind, I’m still your prisoner. Your hands are tied, my gun is on you, but you still think I'm your prisoner, right?”
“Maybe.”
“No maybes. I know your kind. I know the training they give you. You never give up, you bastards. You got orders to take me back to Paris so the French cops can pick me apart and then hand all the bloody little pieces back to you so you can take me to Washington where they’d do it all over again. Those are your orders. That’s what you hope to do. So you wouldn’t kill me, even if you had the chance.”
Charley took the gun away. The muzzle scraped Durell’s head with a harsh twist and then was lowered to point at the black sand.
Chapter Eighteen
THEY ATE the last of the sandwiches. Jane refused to eat and gave her portion to Chet. Madeleine sat down with Durell and helped him wit
h his, since he was still tied. He had hoped, faintly, that Charley might permit his wrists to be unbound, but Charley had ignored the problem. He was worried, too, about his wounded hand. The pain in it had become a steady, pulsing throb that reached up into his arm, and he mentioned it to Madeleine when she asked him how it was.
"It can be changed,” she murmured. She looked at the mouth of the cave where Charley had vanished briefly with Durell's remaining brandy. "It will be dangerous. You saw how he was when he found the jeep was gone?
He could have killed us all without a qualm.”
“He's quiet enough now.”
“Because he has made contact by radio with the rebels. The radio was there, in the cave. I saw it. Charley has already sent off his message. He feels secure now. He thinks his friends in the extremists will come and bring a vehicle for him.”
“When does he expect this to happen?” Durell asked.
The girl shrugged. “He will not say. It is difficult to guess. Here, finish this last bite.”
She gave him the last of her sandwich. There was no water left in the thermos jug now. Durell knew that if the rebels didn’t come soon, the sun tomorrow would finish them all. He kept watching the cave entrance where Charley had gone and said quietly, “Can’t you untie me now, Madeleine?”
She was combing her hair. “It would be suicide, and I will not help you with that. Not now. He has all the weapons and he is alert. When he finishes your brandy, he will not get very drunk, but he will relax a little and then he will send for lane Larkin.”
"Or you,” Durell said.
No, it is the blond girl from Texas he wants, not me.”
"And then?”
He is like a bull, that type. It will be quick. We will plot have much time, only a few minutes. I will untie you then."
“When will it begin?”
“When he finishes the brandy.” Madeleine’s blouse was tom, and her shoulder gleamed through the ripped cloth. Her eyes were luminous in the starlit ravine. It was very quiet. Durell swept the rim of rock where they waited, but nothing stirred. He heard Jane murmuring to Chet, where they sat a little apart. She was holding his face in her hands, talking quietly and persistently to him. All he could see of Chet was the gleam of crude bandage on his shoulder. His head looked bowed and stubborn, as if he refused to listen to her.
Then Charley appeared in the black mouth of the cave. He threw something, and glass shattered. It was the empty brandy bottle. His legs were apart, his head was thrust forward on his massive shoulders. Everything in his black silhouette reflected ugly suspicion.
He turned at last to Jane Larkin.
She hadn’t told Chet, and he had no idea that the night in Algiers would have a lasting meaning for them both. She prayed now that nothing would happen to make things go wrong. It didn’t matter right now that Chet was remote, removed from her by a barrier of pain and his stubborn decision to stay in North Africa. Maybe he was right. She had reached a willingness to concede this much. No question about it, she had been a bitch. It took something fundamental, like seeing Chet shot and falling, seeing his blood and his tired face, thinking for a heart-stopping moment that he’d been killed. Then you knew what really mattered and what was trivial. She wished she really knew how to pray. She tried, but it seemed as if she had forgotten, or didn’t know how. The words ran through her mind without conviction or meaning. Maybe it was too late for her.
“There he is, Jane," Chet whispered. “Watching you.”
She didn’t look at the cave. “Give me your knife, Chet.”
“Too late now, honey.”
“He can’t see. It’s too dark. Where is it? You said you had one.”
“Jane, you can’t kill him!”
”I’ve got to try," she said quietly. “You heard Durell. If the guerrillas get here, he has to kill us so we won’t tell about the money.”
“Then why doesn’t he do it now and get it over with?”
“He wants me,” she said flatly. Chet looked at her. His face was haggard. She touched his cheek, and his beard felt rough and stubbly. “But part of his wanting me won’t be satisfied unless you and Durell and Madeleine know he has had me. That’s the kind of man he is.”
“How do you know about that? What do you know about men like Charley L’Heureux?”
“I just know,” she said. “That’s how he is.”
Chet started to speak in violent protest, then paused, swallowed, and looked at her in wonderment. “And afterward?”
“Afterward, he’ll kill us. Me, too. I have no illusions about that.” She listened to the sound of her whispered words and it seemed like the calm conversation of a stranger. It was not the way she felt inside. There were storms of confusion and terror in her. But for Chet’s sake, she had to seem calm. "There won’t be any afterward, though. So hurry and give me your knife.”
“He’s gone back inside,” Chet said, looking at the cave.
“Hurry, then. Where is it? You said you had it.”
“In my boot.”
He tried to get it for her, but his shoulder wound had stiffened him, and he groaned involuntarily with the effort. Jane told him to lie still. The knife was in his left boot, in a small leather pocket made for it. It was a spring knife, with a long bone handle and a small silver button at one end. She pressed it experimentally. The blade snicked quivering into sight, long and thin, glistening in the starlight. She touched the point. It was like a needle. She touched the edge of the blade with her thumb. It was very sharp.
She tried to imagine driving this blade into Charley’s flesh. She couldn’t picture it. It was.an event that didn’t exist. But she had to make it happen.
She got to her knees and knelt beside Chet.
“Jane, I can’t let you do it!” He sounded desperate.
She kissed him. “Don’t worry about me.” His face was in the shadow. She could see the agony of his love and fear for her. “Chet, I’m sorry about all the—all the quarreling, you know—”
“Don’t talk about that now.”
“I wish I could forget it. I’ve been terrible to you.”
“I've been no saint, either.”
“Yes. Yes, you are a saint, Chet. Later, if everything works out all right—” She swallowed over the words that didn’t say what she was thinking. “Well, we’ll talk about it later, all right?”
“Sure,” Chet said.
She kissed him. His beard scratched her, She stood up quickly and closed the knife and unbuttoned the bottom button of her blouse and slid the knife against the skin of her stomach. The touch of it made her muscles jump and contract.
Charley’s voice reached for her in the night.
“Jane? Come here, Jane.”
She looked that way, pretending indecision. “What do you want?”
“Come here, Janey.”
She walked up the rough slope to the cave entrance. None of them since their arrival had been near the cave. Her legs trembled as she climbed toward him. She prayed for the strength to do what had to be done. Smile, she told herself. Play it the way you did all day. Play it as if you were still the idiot you were this morning. Smile again. Now. And when he touched you, don’t flinch. Whatever you do, make him think you like it.
“Here I am,” she said. She pretended to be interested in the cave. “What’s in there?”
“Nothing. I had a jeep, and somebody swiped it. Good thing they left the radio.”
“Charley. . . .”
“Yeah, Janey.”
“It’s kind of hard for me to figure out what’s right and wrong.” She made her voice naive and plaintive. Her belly quivered. “I mean, things have happened, everything is so crazy and unreal—”
“I'm real.” He grinned down at her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I know what you’ve been thinking all day. Same as me. We both knew it, the minute you first saw me. I know you, Janey.”
“You make me feel—sort of funny, she said. She looked down and put her arm across her
belt and felt the hard pressure of the knife. She heard his breathing. She could smell the sweat and animal odor of him. His fingers caught in the open throat of her blouse and she heard the buttons tear, one by one, as he slowly pulled his hand down and ripped e blouse open.
“Don't,” she whispered. “Not here. They can see—let's go inside—"
“They don’t count, Janey. Forget them."
He ripped the blouse away. She felt the night air on her body. It had to be now. Her forearm hid the knife, and she dropped her hand with the knife lying in her palm and then she suddenly felt the brutal pressure of his arms as he pulled her to him and kissed her. His mouth was hard and cruel. His strength was enormous. She couldn’t move. Her arms were pinned to her sides by his embrace. All at once she was terrified. She felt him crush her down. She hit him, breaking free for a moment, in an instinctive effort to resist. Her fist was small and puny. He laughed. He threw her down, and as she fell she pressed the button on the knife handle, and the blade sprang out with a tiny snicking sound.
He heard it and was motionless.
Straddling her, his silhouette was enormous.
“Janey,” he said reproachfully.
Jane lunged, driving the knife upward toward his body. And she knew before the stroke went half the distance that she had missed.
His knees came down, crashing on her upper arms, and his hand flicked aside the blade with astonishing ease. His face hung over her, laughing silently. His head and shoulders blotted out the sky. Everything seemed to stop inside her. She felt his weight on her and then the shock of his desire.
She heard a curious cry from Chet down below in the ravine.
She screamed.
Charley rolled and stood in a crouch beside her, waiting. Chet came struggling up the slope to the cave. His face was dark with anguish.
“Come on, boy scout,” Charley whispered.
It was quick and efficient. Chet’s wild attack was doomed by his wound, his weakness, his blind rage. It was easy for Charley. Charley let him swing and ducked and laughed, and then he stabbed a hard left into Chet’s belly and followed that with a knee lift that smashed into Chefs face and slammed him backward. Chet went down. He rolled over twice, down the slope. His arms and legs seemed boneless, flapping with the roll of his body. His head struck a stone with a flat sound and he lay still, like a discarded pile of ragged clothes, dim and motionless in the starlight.
Assignment Madeleine Page 16